Wistful Without a Cause

For a friend who was obviously falling in love.

She sits in squirming reverie

Something is missing

The feeling grows as her fingers drum

An unexplained sigh escapes.

 

What could this longing be?

A hunger for food, perhaps?

Or something deeper inside?

It’s useless to speculate.

 

Lately it’s always been the same

When busy or at ease

Pensive, then flutterings like birds

No escape from what’s suppressed.

 

Maybe it’s time to make words

Put logic to rest with honesty

Maybe the thoughts that plague her so

Are only misunderstanding.

 

Or perhaps, for now, it can wait

No reason to admit anything yet

Turn up the music, read a book

And wonder what this feeling is.